


choking on flowers

by johnllauren



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Historical Hetalia, Hurt No Comfort, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Making Out, but not too descriptive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 12:01:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19084609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnllauren/pseuds/johnllauren
Summary: The only sounds to be heard are those of the traffic below them, and even that is far away and muted at the ungodly hour. The hotel room is dark, and kind of cold, really. America focuses on the light coming from the building opposite their hotel, as the lights have been left on all night. Next to him, Prussia stirs, telling him to go back to bed.America can't sleep. And sometimes there are questions on his mind that only England and Spain can answer.





	choking on flowers

**Author's Note:**

> setting: 1948  
> inspired by a drawing my friend did of prussia and america wearing each others outfits :) when/if she posts it somewhere i'll link it here

The only sounds to be heard are those of the traffic below them, and even that is far away and muted at the ungodly hour. The hotel room is dark, and kind of cold, really. America focuses on the light coming from the building opposite their hotel, as the lights have been left on all night. 

The clock at his bedside makes a noise. 3:30. He’s got to be up in three hours and he hasn’t fallen asleep.

America wants to sleep, he really, truly does. There’s nothing he would like more than the ability to just be unconscious for eight hours and then wake up feeling well rested. He knows sleep isn’t going to come to him, though. It’s been the same way for weeks. 

His eyes don’t even pinch, anymore, he still feels awake. At least he isn’t tired, just the state of exhaustion that comes with being awake for so goddamn long. And being sad for so goddamn long.

It’s not like he’s surprised, either. It would be one thing if the people he called his closest friends had went and stabbed him in the back and he was still recoiling from the blow. No, he’s known about this decision, he’s been a key player in it. It’s been one of their ideas for years. He knew it would happen. That’s what America keeps telling himself: _you knew this was coming._ The sentiment doesn’t make any of this any easier.

“Come back to sleep,” says a sleepy voice next to him. Prussia shifts to face him, eyes barely open, and kisses America on the cheek. “It’s late.”

“Yeah, yeah,” America replies, kissing Prussia properly in return. “I just woke up for a second, is all. I’ll fall asleep again.”

Prussia nods, a veritable font of tired wisdom, and pulls America closer to him. America lets himself be pulled, cuddles into Prussia’s side, wraps his arm around Prussia’s shoulder and lets Prussia rest his head on America’s chest. He doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink, until he hears Prussia’s breathing slow again.

America doesn’t even know if Prussia knows he’s going to die. 

It doesn’t take long for Prussia to fall dead asleep, and soon he’s detached himself from America and America finds himself the same way he was fifteen minutes ago: lying on his back on the stupid hotel bed, staring out the window, the sounds of traffic and his lover snoring the only things in the room. 

The clock makes another loud noise at 4, and by this point America has already given up on getting any sleep before he has to be at this meeting in the morning. It doesn’t matter, anyway. Any time that he’s not spending sleeping is more time he’s spending with the person who is certainly the love of his life before he fucking disappears. 

Before he disappears by America’s hand. 

Prussia rolls over, further away from America, and murmurs something about loving him. 

America can’t take it anymore. The question that’s weighing on his mind is too heavy, being here with Prussia fills him with a spectacular guilt, and he has to leave. He removes himself from the bed slowly, carefully, so as to not wake Prussia. He slips out of the hotel room with surprisingly little difficulty, and makes his way down the hallway. 

He knows the number to England’s hotel room, because he had watched England enter the room and he had stored the number away for a time precisely like his one, a time when he would need the guidance of someone like England.

America sighs, tries to maintain what is left of his composure, and knocks on the door. The knock is hollow, and followed by no response for a long enough time that America genuinely thinks he’s going to be ignored. Then he can hear the steady stream of insults slowly getting louder. 

“...Fucking twat, who the _fuck_ is waking me up at this ungodly hour, I’m gonna fucking-” 

The door swings open to reveal England, bedheaded and annoyed. He looks like he’s about to kill America when he finally focuses on him and registers America’s expression. 

“Oh.” He says eloquently. “What’s wrong?”

America shakes his head. “No, it’s okay, I’ll ask… Spain, go back to bed.” 

England looks down. “Spain is also in here.” 

He steps aside to let America in. America isn’t surprised at Spain sharing a room with England - there are very few times a year when all the nations are together, so of course the couples are expected to sneak into each others’ rooms. England turns the light on, and the room is lit up. Spain is sitting up in their bed, rubbing his eyes but fully clothed to America’s relief. 

“América?” Spain asks, surprised, squinting at him. 

“Good morning.” America replies. 

England looks at the clock. “It’s 4:15, git.” 

“ _Siéntate._ ” Spain says, and America sits. It’s been a while since Spain has spoken to him in Spanish, but of course he remembers it.

“What happened?” England inquires, his eyebrows beginning to knit together. 

America sighs. He’s never been good at serious conversations. Likely, there’s a good reason for that, but he doesn’t care much for psychoanalysis. “You guys are old,” is the opening he starts with. His emotional depth is stunning.

Spain laughs, and England rolls his eyes. “Yes, we are old.” Spain concedes, his voice already light again. 

“Okay. So.” America swallows. “What happens to countries when they die?”

There it is. The million dollar question, the one he’s been skirting around asking, the biggest giveaway of his youth and naivety. He’s been avoiding the question since ‘44. 

A beat of silence.

“Prussia.” Spain says softly.

“Yeah.” 

England and Spain look at him with sad eyes. 

America exhales. “Please. Don’t sugarcoat it. I want to know, I want to prepare myself, I…” He blinks, looks down. He’s not going to cry. Spain rests a hand on his shoulder to comfort him. 

And then England says probably the worst possible thing. “We don’t know.”

“ _What? _” It’s a whisper.__

__Spain fixes England with a glare and takes on the conversation. “He means it’s different for every country in every situation. Some fade away, some are killed in battle and do not come back, some remain for a time as long as their people keep a national identity alive.”_ _

__“So we don’t know what we’re going to do to him.” America says to England. His voice is void of emotion._ _

__“It’s something that has to be done.” England says. “It’s not our decision alone, anyway.”_ _

__“I _know_ it has to be done.” America replies. “I _know_ what happened, I fought in the war, I lost citizens too. I know how war works. I know what he - what his leader - did to you, and others, and innocent people. That’s not in dispute. I’m not trying to fight this decision but I - I - you know I love him. I love him and I’m complicit in dissolving him and we don’t even know if he’s going to _die_. I - I don’t-” he’s cut off by his own crying. Spain reaches out to him, pulls him closer, and America lets himself be held. Spain runs his hands through America’s hair and it feels like America is a child again, running through the roads of St. Augustine and laughing with Spain over dinner. _ _

__“I know.” Spain says softly. “I know it’s hard, I’m sorry.”_ _

__America nods, cupping his hand over his mouth to try and cover his sobs. “I’m sorry,” he tries to say, and it’s debatable if he can even be heard._ _

__It’s cruel. It’s cruel when countries are also people, with relationships and feelings. It’s cruel that America has to sign off on the destruction of Prussia, his lover, more than just that, when he doesn’t even know what’s going to happen to him. And he hates it. He hates that he has to think of his citizens before himself when humans are designed to be simply selfish creatures. He’s loved Prussia his entire adult life, and America might be young, but he’s fucking powerful now. He could exercise his power to save Prussia, if he really badly wanted to. He could._ _

__America stays in their room, Spain holding onto him and England sitting near them, too awkward to help but obviously intending to do so. At one point, England gets so tired of the silence he turns on the radio. Finally, finally, he wipes his face clean of tears and sits up properly._ _

__“¿Estás bien?” Spain asks, looking at America quizzically._ _

__America nods, and he doesn’t really know who that’s supposed to convince - himself, or the other two countries. “Sí, estoy así así. Gracias.”_ _

__Spain smiles. “Ah, you have remembered your Spanish! And here I thought you forgot I colonized you first.” He says, looking at America like he’s a dog, or a small child._ _

___Colonizers._ _ _

__America stands and brushes himself off. “I’d better go.” He says. “Everyone else will be waking soon, and I don’t want Prussia thinking I was gone.”_ _

__“Take care of yourself, America.” England sounds too solemn. America doesn’t know what he means, how to do that while Prussia’s nationhood is on the line._ _

__“I’ll see you guys later.” America makes his way to the door. “Thank you.” He means it._ _

__When America slips back into his room, Prussia is already getting dressed. _Fuck._ _ _

__“Oh, there you are! Good morning, honey.” Prussia says, walking over to America and kissing him hello. The kiss is soft and sweet and America tries to savor it without thinking about how many kisses they have left. “I thought you had some kind of crazy early allies meeting.”_ _

__America laughs and looks down. There’s definitely some upset between them about their rival alliances in these last two wars, and America still isn’t sure how to go about it. “No. Ah, England invited me over for coffee because he wanted to go over his points before the conference.” America lies._ _

__The lie seems to satisfy Prussia. “I don’t like not waking up next to you,” he says._ _

__“Trust me, I didn’t like it either. At least we have plenty of time before we have to be anywhere.” America replies._ _

__Prussia seems to catch his gist and then they’re kissing again, heavier this time. Prussia’s always kissed like the two of them were the only two people on earth. America sighs into the kiss, moving a hand to Prussia’s waist and the other to cup his jaw. Prussia bites America’s bottom lip playfully and begins to lift America’s pajama shirt. America laughs, says something about Prussia being eager, and pulls the shirt over his head._ _

__Prussia pulls away from the kiss and America realizes it’s to undo the buttons on his uniform shirt. “You know, I just ironed this. If it gets wrinkled, I’ll kill you.”_ _

__America sticks his tongue out at Prussia, but he’s already sitting on the bed, an inviting look in his eyes._ _

__Not five minutes later, there’s a knock at the door. Prussia gets up from his position doing something absolutely obscene with his mouth on America’s neck, just below where his dress shirt collar would be. America stifles a noise._ _

__“Oy, America, you’re going to be fucking late!” England yells from outside the door._ _

__Prussia throws one of the folded bundles of clothes on their night stand at America, who pulls it over his head without even undoing the buttons. Prussia does the same, though he doesn’t seem very happy about it._ _

__America practically jumps off the bed. “Coming!” He calls as he throws the door open, trying not to look like he was in the middle of anything… unsavory._ _

__“Good morning,” England greets, like he wasn’t kept up half the night watching America go through emotional turmoil._ _

__“Mornin’” America says. From inside the room, Prussia offers a “guten tag.”_ _

__England steps inside, looking at them funny. “Are you wearing each others’ uniforms on purpose?”_ _

__America looks down at his shirt - his dark blue, Prussian military uniform. Prussia bursts out laughing. “Oops.”_ _

__They both begin getting out of the wrong shirts, but England stops them. There’s a hand over his mouth to stifle laughter. “No, please, let me take a picture.” He pulls his camera out of his messenger bag._ _

__Prussia, a self-confessed slut for a good picture, gets closer to America and slings his arm around him. America smiles and kisses Prussia on the cheek, already thinking about what kind of picture frame this should go in and where it should be displayed in his house._ _

___Click. Click._ _ _

__Then England speaks. It’s not English, or French, or Spanish, so it takes America a second to place the language. But the war is still fresh in his mind, and it doesn’t take him long to recognize the familiar sounds of Navajo. It’s peculiar that England would use the language, since only the allies know it (or, more accurately, know a little), and then America realizes that Prussia isn’t supposed to hear._ _

__“ _They’re signing the document dissolving him today._ ” _ _

___Click_._ _

**Author's Note:**

> listen.... spain also colonized america why are we not jumping on the spain & america train i LOVE them. (i know america calls spain and england colonizers as if he himself isnt one but he hasnt realized that he is yet the boy needs to go through some heavy character development)  
> sorry this ends sad happy day 2 of rare pair week!  
> my tumblr: lafayettesass


End file.
